Avalanche: So Cold It Burns
by AndraLee
Summary: Victoria is planning her revenge while Jacob and his friends are learning that the stories about the "cold ones" aren't myths at all. Warning: sexual innuendo; references to kidnapping and slavery; violence and character death. This story is on hiatus.
1. Prologue: His Voice

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. Limited dialogue and text from the Twilight sage appear within the following text. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Revised version 10/13/09; warning: violence and sexual innuendo _

**Avalanche: So Cold it Burns - Prologue: His Voice (Victoria's POV)**

_I could hear his voice._

"I was in a drinking establishment the first time I set eyes on Vic," James would say, sometimes substituting the words 'drinking establishment' with a currently popular synonym. He would grin widely and cut his eyes to me, lifting his eyebrows. Sometimes the venom would pool in the corner of his mouth and his tongue would capture the moisture slowly, exactly like he was doing the first time I ever saw him.

"I was looking for a quick drink," he'd say with a wink. "She was setting up a customer, working a pair of legs that guaranteed ecstasy," James would pause to make sure the mark's eyes wandered over me. Sometimes I would stare at the mark and force my own eyes to trail over its physique, but the only thing I really wanted to look at was the flesh covering the carotid artery.

James continued. "He was a huge dude and he looked liked he hadn't seen water since his momma made him take a bath." That line always earned James a laugh.

"She got that man out behind the bar in an alley and said, 'I'm kinda a new at this'. Let me tell you, that threw that dude off. There she was acting all in control one minute and sorta scared the next. Huh, the man took the bait and let down his guard. What a mistake that was." It was James' turn to laugh.

"'Cause she whipped out a pistol and said, 'Gimme your money and your watch. Now.' James would extend his forefinger of his left hand and raise his thumb. Pow! He mimed, blowing the imaginary smoking gun. The action usually triggered a warning. You could see it in the eyes, but they were usually too caught up in watching me lick my lips.

James would pause to make sure the mark was paying attention to me before he'd say, "Man, I never saw a woman that looked as cold as she did when she sneered at him. 'You're movin' to slow', she said, and then she shot him. Right in the foot." He would always reach out for me and I'd slide over into his lap. The mark would laugh unevenly as it watched me nip at James' neck while James massaged my back.

"Victoria's like an avalanche: breathtakingly beautiful, cold, devastating, and deadly," James would always say caressing each adjective. He'd wait a moment before he began to leer, adding, "More woman than any one man can handle."

Ready.

Aim.

Fire.

The mark was always hooked by then and it wasn't long before we would end up someplace private where James would lead the conversation back to that story. "You know that dude I was telling you about? The one that Vic shot in the foot?" James would ask our mark.

"He got real pissed and started hopping around screaming. Must hurt like hell to get shot. You know?" James didn't wait for out mark to answer. "Victoria was trying to get her hands in his pockets; and he picked her up by her arm and shook her. I heard the bones snapping, but she didn't even whimper. She never even yelled for help when he threw her down and sat on her. He was punching her in the face and stomach. I could hear her gasp for air, but she never cried."

The mark usually had its mouth hanging open by then.

"Man, I was impressed and more than a little stimulated, you know." James would wink at the mark again. "I strolled right out of the corner where I'd been watching her work and watching that man work her over. I backhanded him across the face and his freaking jaw disintegrated. Hell, he would have drowned in his own blood and puke, if I hadn't opened his throat." At this point in the story, I would curl up next to our mark and start stroking an arm.

The marks we found in bars were all the same: petty criminals and wanna-bes who wouldn't be missed. It didn't matter that the saloon where James found me was in Cleveland, Ohio. It didn't matter that it was 1842. It could have been 1999. They were all cows easily seduced by the promise of a fix. Booze or blow. It didn't matter. They wanted to feed.

So did we.

"I let her watch while I finished him off and then dispatched a saloonkeeper, who had chosen the wrong time show up." The marks didn't have a clue what he had meant.

"Vic started crawling backwards, away from me. I crouched low and stalked her. She was covered in blood and dirt. Her clothes were already torn, so I ripped the them off. Covered in gore, she was the most amazing creature I had ever seen. I licked the blood from her body and sucked her busted and swollen lips. I wanted to savor her death and take her slowly."By this point, the marks seldom failed to realize that the horror story James was telling did not portend a happy ending for the listener.

I'd push the marks back, closing the airway with my white steeled arms. As James related the remaining details, I sank my teeth into the tender flesh.

"I wrapped her up and carried her to a vine-covered ditch just beyond the edge of town. I lay down beside her, but instead of drawing the remaining blood from her body, I watched as the venom burned in her veins. I'd never seen anything more glorious"

James always ended the tale seated beside me, milking the last of the delicious red fluid from our mark. But now, James was gone, and I was alone. Alone with my memories. Alone to burn with hatred, thirsting for revenge.

***********

In the next chapter:

It was a Friday night and the bowling alley was full of teenagers trying to persuade the few twenty-somethings present to buy them beer. I took a seat near the door to the bar and pretended to be waiting for someone. I didn't pay any attention to the three boys who walked up to the snack bar counter until .....

"Bite me, dog breath."

"Betcha wouldn't say that to one of those cold freaks."

"Look, Edward Cullen and his family don't mean nothing to me. They're just another bunch of weirdos that moved to Forks."

"Oh, they don't? So why were you all interested to run over to Bella Swan's house with your dad when she got back from Phoenix? To make sure she had all her fingers and all her toes?"

**************

A/N: No, for those who have been asking, Jacob and Victoria are not getting together. Don't be ridiculous. :P


	2. People Talk

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Avalanche: So Cold It Burns**

**People Talk **(Victoria's POV)

After I gave James address he'd ask me to find, he told me to wait for him in Tacoma at the Calico Cat Hotel. The Cat was one of those places where you could stay for a few hours or a few weeks. They would take your credit card, but were happier to see cash up front. When I checked in, the desk clerk assumed I was just another working girl looking to make some money on the GIs from Fort Lewis and and business types from Seattle.

He ogled my tight t-shirt and offered to provide me with special messaging services for a small fee. He was really hoping a few referrals might entitle him to special privileges.

"You one of Mario's girls?"

"I'm on my own."

"Really? Well, in that case maybe I can steer a little extra business your way," the tall clerk said. "Take off those dark glasses and let's have a better look at you."

I was pretty well fed, so my eyes were a deep ruby red. When I took off my shades, he stepped as far away from me as he could in the cramped office. I smiled and bent over, leaning into the divider so I could put my lips close to the opening. He was tall enough that he could see the top of my head. I knew he was imaging another situation where he might get a similar view. "How much for the week?" I whispered huskily, keeping my head low and non-threatening.

"Two-forty," he said, sounding a little out of breath.

"Cash okay?" I asked.

"Sure, cash is good," he said with more gusto. He stepped back up to the divider. "It's an extra fifty for message service plus a 'finder's fee', you know."

I straightened up to my full height and saw him tremble a little. Only five inches and a plastic divider separated us. "I don't think I'll be needing any help with messages, but since I'm new in town, maybe I'll need someone to show me around town."

"Mamma, I can give you anything you need,"

"I'm counting on that, but for now all I need is a nice, long, hot shower." Bored, I was already tuning him out.

"... and hot water is something we never run out of," he boosted.

Laurent would have liked the sound of that. James had seen that the perpetually prissy Laurent envied the yellow-eyes' set up in Forks and he thought a few nights in a hotel like the Cat would assuage Laurent's yearning for a shower and provide access to easy money and food. But Laurent never showed up.

I wasn't entirely surprised when Laurent flew into a snit over James' decision to poach the pale eyes' pet. Laurent didn't have a lot a patience for all of the various forms of entertainment to which James availed himself. As a result, Laurent would occasionally wander off alone to lick his wounds; I wasn't overly concerned when he had dropped out of sight after our encounter with the pale eyes. Laurent coveted fine things like the expensive watches and shoes the yellow eyes wore. James' game ruined Laurent's access to whatever the strange coven might be willing to share, but he'd get over his disappointment sooner or later.

I hung around in Tacoma for two weeks before the I drifted back to Port Angeles. I hadn't heard from James since he called from Phoenix to tell that the address was good and that he was expecting to capture the pet before her owner would get into town.

"Nothing much exciting here. The pet's room is bland actually. Not at all what I was expecting," James shared. "Can't imagine what that coven sees in her. They must be desperate to placate the boy. He's a whiny one. Wouldn't want him caterwauling all the time myself. It's bad enough putting up with Laurent some days, but at least he makes himself useful. Don't see that boy doing much but making work."

James' cell phone, one of those prepaid jobs that didn't require users to sign contracts or have permanent mailing addresses, wasn't working. He'd taken it off a mark, a trucker, in Winnipeg. The mark had placed an ad on craigslist advertising work for an adventurous couple for photos and friendship.

Most people assumed a prepaid phone was untraceable, but that wasn't true. Every time they're used an electronic record is created somewhere. At the very least, the company that hosted the cellular service was sitting with fingers on a switch, ready to cut the link when the purchased minutes ran out or simply expired.

The pictures we found in the cab of the semi suggested that it wouldn't be long before the cops would be looking for a Smutley-Do-Right and his trusty camera. The mark's fantasy involved having one person tie up the other while the mark snapped away. When the subject was rendered harmless, he'd knock the other out and take some time setting the scene and posing the subject. Didn't look like the mark had ever killed anyone, which meant that at least ten witnesses were still crawling around someplace. The first time someone got killed and the murder made the news, the witnesses would all waddle down to the cop shop singing their heads off. _We were lucky to have escaped with our lives_, they would say.

Neither Laurent nor I were up for role-playing that night in Winnipeg, so we took the mark down as soon as he pulled into the truck stop. It was only expecting to pick up one guy and one girl, so it tried to back out of the deal when the three of us showed up. James didn't give him a chance to complain much though, snapping the neck hidden beneath several flabby folds as he crawled up into the cab.

We drove to Saskatoon and used the weed the trucker had hidden in the back to score a couple of co-eds. Sassy things that should have been back in the dorm studying and making good on daddy's investment, instead of grinding one out on the legs of a jock that fell asleep before paying their tab. Human females hadn't changed much since I was one myself. They were all looking to latch on to a stupid male who would keep them fed, warm and dry.

James gave me so much more: the tools to master my own life. He applauded my independence and quick adaptation to immortality. He loathed timidity and weakness. Fortunately, I was never shy and he made me strong. He underestimated my viciousness, but it was a trait he learned to love, since it provided the perfect counterpoint to his boyishly innocent games.

I waited to hear from James at the Calico Cat for two weeks. We'd never been apart for this long and I was getting nervous. The clerk's body had gone pungent, so it seemed like a good time to vacate the premises. I'd eviscerated him with a fingernail, leaving just enough blood on the floor to make the crime lab rats think the clerk had pissed off a hopped up drug fiend.

There wasn't any sign of James in Forks, but I'd caught the scent of the yellow eyes. I was afraid they would pick up my scent so I stole a car and drove around awhile then decided to ditch the car in Port Angeles. It was a Friday night and the bowling alley was full of teenagers trying to persuade the few twenty-somethings present to buy them beer. I took a seat near the door to the bar and pretended to be waiting for someone.

I didn't pay any attention to the three boys who walked up to the snack bar counter until one of them dropped a place name.

"Yeah, those freaks followed her down to Phoenix. My dad had a cow when he heard about it."

"I bet."

"Hey, we oughta sneak over to their place in the middle of the night and see what goes on over there."

"Not me, man. If my dad catches me anywhere near there, he might go all Xavier on my ass and run me over with the freaking wheelchair."

"Chicken."

"Yeah, you're scared of the Cullens"

"I am not."

"Yeah, you are."

"Yes, you are."

"Bite me, dog breath."

"Betcha wouldn't say that to one of those cold ass freaks."

"Look, Edward Cullen and his family don't mean nothing to me. They're just another bunch of weirdoes that moved to Forks."

"Oh, they don't? So why were you all interested to run over to Bella Swan's house with your dad when she got back from Phoenix? To make sure she had all her fingers and all her toes?"

The kids were getting louder and I found myself inching over closer to them. If the Cullens were back in Forks and their pet was home with her pops, what did that mean? Where was James?

"Hey, is she back in school yet?"

"Yeah, my dad said Cullen's picking her up and driving her to school everyday."

"Guess she can't drive with a broken leg."

"Duh."

"You like her, don't you Jacob?"

"Yeah, Jacob, you like her."

"She's a just girl. Shut up and eat your nachos."

Five words kept running through my mind. _Where the hell is James?_

_**********************_

A/N

Yep, there really is a Calico Cat Hotel in Tacoma. (WARNING! I think it's still off-limits to you guys and gals stationed at Fort Lewis. :p)


	3. Council Meeting

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. Limited dialog and text from the Twilight saga appear within the following text. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Avalanche: Co Cold It Burns **

**Chapter 2 - Council Meeting (Jacob's POV)**

A nasty mood settled into my backbone when my best friends, Embry Call and Quil Ateara, teased me about my interest in Bella Swan and my fear of the Cullens last week. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone or something was watching me. It was like a mosquito was buzzing around my ear. Occasionally, it would get close enough for me to hear it; the threat of a stinger pushing into my skin would make me flinch. My jumpiness even set my dad on edge and he's asked me to stay home from school and help him around the house. Skipping school to hang out with my dad was a first.

My distress reached its peek around noon, when we'd rode over to the hardware store in Forks. I was such a mess that I could barely push my dad's wheelchair. He finally told me to go wait in the car while he paid for the light bulbs and duct tape we didn't need. Although my paranoia eased after we had left the store, my general discomfort increased when my dad decided he needed to swing by Old Quil Ateara's house on the way home. The old man kept patting my head and face and asking how I was doing.

"Jacob," he whispered. "It won't be long before you're ready to take your place as a leader in this community. Are you ready for the responsibility, son?"

I wanted to stick my tongue out at him.

There wasn't a lot of responsibility for someone like me on LaPush. I imagined that I would graduate from high school, go to college, and get a degree in vocational education, so I could teach auto shop or woodworking. I'd end up like my dad and Old Quil: fishing all weekend; drinking beer; and whining at gatherings, just like the one we had tonight.

The council meeting was over, but a few of the elders, waiting for things to settle down before rehashing their ancient tales, were hanging around in the back of community room. My dad was there. He caught my eye and lifted and dropped his head, almost imperceptibly; then he gave me that tight, toothless stress-filled smile that could have been a grimace of pain for all I knew. One of the elders said something and looked at Sam Uley. My dad looked, too.

Sam was still seated, but he stood and stretched slowly, staring straight ahead at the pictures from last year's paddle journey that someone had hung on a bulletin board. I had known Sam all my life. But of course, you know everyone In a community of only 700 people that defined themselves by kinships and a connection to the land.

Sam always seemed like a happy-go-lucky guy, but over the past year or so, he'd grown increasingly serious and very involved in "peace enforcement" on the rez. My dad encouraged me to hang out with Sam when he showed up at the youth center, even though he was old enough to be away at college, like my sister, Rachel.

The last time I hung out with him was the day back in March when Bella visited LaPush with her friends from Forks High School.

Our dads had been friends for most of their lives, but Bella barely remembered me. I had fixed up the old Chevy her dad bought off my father, and I liked the feeling I got from thinking that I had made Bella's transition to life in Forks easier by providing her a way to exercise her independence. I wanted to impress her, so when she suggested that we walk along the beach, I told her some of our secret stories. Stories I wasn't supposed to tell anyone outside the Tribe, especially a Hokwať - a white.

Maybe it was guilt that made me reluctant to stay and hear the old stories tonight. Technically, I had violated the legendary treaty between the Tribe and the "cold ones". Knowing that my dad and some of the elders believed that the Cullens had hurt Bella in Phoenix pricked my conscience. Or maybe I was tired of seeing my old friends, Paul and Jared, following so close behind Sam that if he stopped suddenly they might have had to pull their noses out of his ass.

At the moment, however, Paul and Jared were scarfing down cookies and soda pop and it appeared it would take more than the Pied Piper of LaPush to drag them away from the refreshments. That something more was Sue Clearwater, a council member. She shooed them away and glared openly, the way I wanted to. Paul and Jared passed us on their way to join Sam, who had spoken to the elders at the back of the room before moving closer to the main door. Together, they looked like the bouncers that worked at the bars in Port Angeles, all psyched to put the stomp on a brawl.

"Tixáli." I wondered for a second, if Sam and his goons would block the door when I tried to leave.

"Aw, come on Jacob," Embry Call said. "Don't be like that. Don't go home."

"We're not going to hear anything new," Quil Ateara chimed in. "It's not like it's a new episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

"Dude, that show's not even on anymore," Embry punched Quil's arm.

"Reruns, man, reruns." Quil rubbed his bicep. "Besides Buffy's hot. Nothing cold about her."

"Stay Jake,"; Embry persisted. Embry was my closest friend and I knew he really didn't want to stay, but he was more concerned that leaving would be disrespectful to the elders than I was. "Don't be a baby."

"So what?" I figured I had to have been wearing diapers the first time I had heard the warning about the "cold ones" anyway. Imagining myself young and helpless and in diapers was almost impossible. It seemed only slightly less probable that the legends of blood-drinking creatures were true and that the new doctor and his family were the same monsters my dad and the other Quileute elders feared.

Generally, I considered the stories precautionary tales that had more to do with instilling the idea that we should protect our tribal lands from non-Indians eager to exploit our resources. Our tribal legends were passed down one generation to the next and were a source of pride; knowing the secret stories about like the one about the "cold ones" was an honor.

Still, I viewed the admonishments to steer clear of the Cullens in much the same way that I knew it was necessary to look both ways before crossing a street. That is to say, I knew that I _should_ look both ways, even when I was standing beside a road on the rez and there wasn't a car within miles, and I guess I _should_ hate the Cullens, just because the elders said so.

My father really, really hated the Cullens. Sometimes he'd mutter about the trouble the Cullens were causing, but I couldn't figure out what he could possibly be talking about, unless it was the fact that a lot of people were refusing to be treated at the hospital in Forks and that meant a lot of extra driving to the next closest hospital.

When my father and the other elders on LaPush found out that lumber and other home building materials were being delivered to the property owned by the Cullens, recitations of the old scary stories took on a new intensity, lifting them out of the realm of the Brothers Grimm. (The wolves were the always the bad guys in those stories, anyway.) The storytellers adopted an ominous tone and bore expressions of concern and worry. They stared at us - the tribal teens - in a way that wasn't comfortable. It was like they were waiting to catch us doing something bad. Or maybe they were waiting for us to jump, frightened by an unexpected loudly shouted word.; but no one ever yelled "Boo" and not a single listener ever jumped. Most of us respectfully held our tongues, but rolled our eyes at each other when the elders looked away, at least until Sam Uley started hanging around.

"Look, I just don't see any reason why we gotta listen to the same old stories all the time'" I groaned.

"You're just sore cause Sam and his little gang of tough guys can do no wrong," Quil said as he watched Sam and his friends help Quil's grandfather outside. "Hey, that's a first, the LaPush Gang is gonna miss story hour."

"They'll be back," I snorted. "Maybe they're sneaking out for a smoke?"

"Nope, not tonight," Embry replied. "I overheard the elders saying that Sam smelled something that wasn't 'right' over near Forks - near the hardware store."

"First, he's coming down on drug dealers on the rez, and now he's protecting Forks from evil doers," Quil laughed. "Who does he think he is? Chief Swan?"

"Get this, Jacob, I heard your dad tell Harry Clearwater that you've been acting weird all week and that he took you to the hardware store and you almost came unglued." Embry sounded scared. "Then, your dad said that Sam's looking into whatever is up in Forks."

"Yeah, well... with Sam and Paul and Jared out of action tonight, that will mean the elders will expect us to stay," Quil grumbled. "and they won't put up with any excuses."

Quil was right: we would be expected to stay and listen to the legends of werewolves and vampires. But that was okay with me, because I wanted to know what my dad was up to and I knew the answer had something to do with Sam and the elders. I also knew that sooner or later, Sam and his boys would be back.


	4. First Kill

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Avalanche: So Cold It Burns **

**First Kill** (Victoria's POV)

I thanked the stars that I had chosen to stop in the bowling alley, where I had been blessed to overhear a conversation about the Cullens. The adolescent males knew the yellow-eyes were dangerous and different. Though they didn't specifically refer to the Cullens as vampires, the conversation definitely implied that the pale-eyes had been exposed. Wondering how the Italians would react if they knew the Cullens were so cavalier as to believe that maintaining a permanent residence would not invite human speculation and attention, made me shudder.

"Missy, there's only one rule in life: guard your secrets well." James cocked his head and cooed, "and that's easy, because keeping secrets is fun." James placed having fun at the top of his list of important things. "Of course, when it's just you and a hot meal, that's a rule you can ignore; you've got to take what comes and make the most of it."

I closed my eyes and remembered my first kill.

I had been confused by the aching in my throat. Desperately, I swallowed handfuls of the putrid liquid that ran through the ditch that cradled my rebirth. The fluid had made me retch violently. Between spasms I sat back and looked at James, vaguely recalling the soft voice and gentle touch that greeted my slow detachment from my fiery cocoon.

"There, there sugar," James whispered. He rocked my writhing form and sang "Mama's little baby loves short'ning, short'ning. Mama's little baby loves short'ning bread..." I hated that song.

The truth was that James had planned to kill me slowly; he had simply gotten lost in watching my metamorphosis. He didn't particularly care for sharing and never before given forming a coven a thought, but successfully creating a new vampire whetted James' appetite for companionship. In short, James loved me because I was his creation.

I loved him because he rubbed my back and wiped the foul water from face when I tried to drink from the ditch.

When the dry heaves had stopped, I followed the gully to a canal where I found the first human I ever slaughtered. It had been leading a team of mules along the bank. The beasts, hooked to a haul line, were towing a barge to Canton.

The human's body was tan and well-muscled, but its skin was rough and scarred. Beads of sweat dripped from its brow and ran through the crevices on the leathery face. The absence of back teeth allowed the skin, below the cheekbone, to pit on either side of its mouth. It opened that mouth to gap at me when I reached for it.

A human on the barge had seen me rise from the water, shimmering in my new skin, and throw myself at my prey. Just as the worker started to shout a warning to the other humans, James grabbed its leg and pulled it into the water. A second later, I watched a red cloud spread on the surface of the water near the barge and quickly dissipate as I sucked at the brawny neck of the human I'd captured.

None of the other humans saw either James or myself; and they didn't give any indication that they were aware the tow lines were slack.

James joined me on the bank, cautioning me to drag the body I was still coaxing to bleed back into the underbrush. "The humans will see," he chirped happily. "We won't have any trouble killing the dozen or so people working around here; but you're a little slow, sugar, and it would be more fun to take my time and show how this can be done a bit more efficiently." James smiled gently at me and extended his hand. "Come on, missy, let me teach you to hunt."

I growled as I backed into the brush.

"That's right, growling is important. It scares the humans." James knelt beside me and slowly reached out to the touch the man's ankle. "This one's dead; let's find another one for you growl at and then nibble to death. Shall we?"

I stood, and James whisked the body away into the canal.

A few days later, James gave me a Linotype newspaper page to commemorate the event. Humans had a compulsion to communicate vast amounts of information about their lives...and deaths.

"Knowledge is a weapon," James said as he winked and smoothed the wrinkled tabloid he'd fished from a garbage pile.

James read me the article he was most interested in. It said that the humans had attributed the disappearance of the men we had killed to an accident. The reporter theorized that something - maybe a snake - had spooked the mules, knocking their handler into the water; there he succumbed to the current and drowned. Perhaps, the man on the barge had jumped in to rescue the first man, but had been taken under and also drowned. The bodies, which James had buried under the rocks on the bottom of the canal, were never recovered.

The newspaper also related a story about an incident involving several panhandlers, who had attacked a merchant when he tried to sweep them into a street. I wondered if the merchant had been one of the people who spat on me when I had been a child begging near the Cleveland stockyards and livery stables.

By the time that James crossed my path, I had given up on panhandling and was stealing to survive. Asking people for food and money exposed me for the weak and unprotected creature that I was, and seeking charity had made me the target of various forms of human callousness and depravity. Stealing allowed me to regain some control over my life, as I stealthily plotted to take what I needed to tranquilize the pangs of sadness and hunger.

Until my transformation, misery was the only constant I had known in life. It had plagued me ever since my parents had died of a fever and I had watched my siblings, ravaged by hunger, disappear - one by one. The burning I felt as I thrashed in the ditch was something I had always expected to visit me, like an inevitable milestone or rite of passage, although I was overwhelmed by its intensity. The raging fire had consumed my senses after the man I had shot in the foot began to beat me, and my human mind connected the cold indifference of the world I was leaving to the agonizing flames that tortured me. So cold it burned.

On an emotional level, the burn was never something I associated with James, of whom I had no human memory, however, my hardened vampire brain understood venom had been the source of the heat, igniting the change. When the blaze had cooled and my mind began to work again, James was beside me, fascinated by the way I became reacquainted with the world. His happiness and cheerful disposition was infectious; and he gradually drew my attention from the blinding thirst, but he had also made sure they I could quench that thirst nearly everyday, believing that the key to critical self-control was overindulgence in human blood.

Obtaining the blood of a human that the played baseball with vampires was James' current obsession.

We had wandered through the area after spending some time enjoying the local fare and music in Seattle. James was bored with the easy pickings and decided he needed a trip south to Las Vegas, where the plethora of casinos and hotels offered a tantalizing buffet. Gamblers always make for good sport, so Vegas would be fun. I wanted to play in the snow and enjoy the ocean, so James agreed to indulged my yearning for the glaciers of the Olympic Peninsula before we traded the Pacific Northwest for the Nevada desert.

We were heading toward the ocean, planning to run along coast toward Portland before turning east again, when we heard someone trying to camouflage the sounds of immortals at play. Laurent and I might have missed the tell-tale noise, but James, ever the sportsmen, loved playing baseball and sometimes cajoled me into throwing balls that he'd knock into another state.

Once, James had acquired a seven-iron golf club that he had carried for a few weeks, and I thought the obsession with golf - and hunting golfers - would relieve me of pitching. However, I soon discovered that pitching was infinitely more fun than wading in water hazards for golf balls that James could smack around. When James caught the noise of the baseball game and decided he wanted to play, I agreed that it might be fun to join the game

The yellow-eyed coven didn't seem to care for strangers, but that would hardly be unusual for vampires. None of them seemed genuinely open to the company of James, Laurent or myself, but the bronze-haired one seemed particularly incensed. James wanted the blood of the Cullen's pet as soon as he realized that the fierce, unfriendly Cullen was saving the pet for himself.

We had parted company with the yellow-eyes, who had extended an invitation to visit their "home", but James had no intention of touring the yellow-eyes' abode, where their numbers alone gave them a staggering tactical advantage. James was too busy planning to taunt the boy with the lifeless body of the pet.

"Whew wee! Did you see how riled up the kid got?" James finally snickered when the sounds of the yellow-eyes had faded into the forest rustling of leaves, insects and birds.

"James, why couldn't you let us see what they have here before you made a play for their food," Laurent growled.

"Oh, God! Laurent, the human's a toy. What fun it will be wrest her from that adolescent incubus," James crowed.

Their conversation escalated to an argument that ended when Laurent stomped off to see the strange coven's residence. James set off tracking the human pet. He hoped he would catch the boy and the pet alone where a little game of tug-of-war might prove to be exciting.

James was having a grand time. He wasn't entirely sure how the yellow-eyes could have been so certain that James wanted the pet, but their attempts to thwart James increased his interest in the game exponentially. Seeing James excitement lured me in and I began combing the area for information that might be useful. Spreading my own scent throughout the area would confuse all but a serious and experienced tracer like James, too.

James thought he was closing in when he suddenly realized that scent of the human was fading while the odors of vampires remained strong. They had been spreading the human's scent to conceal her flight. James immediately decided to head in opposite direction: south. Because the pet had told its father it was going to Phoenix, James asked me go back to pet's house and see what I could learn there; but the house was being watched, so I decided to drop by the high school and see what information might be available in the pet's records. After I supplied James with the address I found he told me to wait for him in Tacoma

Sending me to the Calico Cat hotel had been another stroke of luck, because as I ghosted along the main highway toward the mainland, I observed the yellow-eyes' leader and the bronze-haired boy in a car. I followed them to the airport and discovered the boy was heading to Phoenix. I tried to call James, but couldn't reach him. I left a voicemail.

"You truly are fabulous, but the boy is on his way to retrieve his toy - I just saw him get on a plane, so if you haven't drained that human yet, you better get a move on, handsome."

James never called back.

I wondered what might have come up that had made James decide to let the pet go for now. Persuading James to defer gratification wasn't easy and on the few occasions, when Laurent thought a delay necessary, the feat was only accomplished by providing an alternate side game. James would rather forgo even a significant reward unless attaining the original goal could also be guaranteed. Waiting for that prize while the secondary game played out would make James surly.

I could only wait and collect information that might assuage James.

I learned a lot about the Cullens by following the teens I had encountered at the bowling alley. They turned out to be members of a Indian tribe living on a nearby reservation. When it became readily apparent that the entire community were keeping their own secrets and I began to worry that one or two of the humans from the tribe might, in fact, be able to pick-up my scent. I was curious, but finding James and making contact with Laurent were priorities.

April and most of May had come and gone without any contact from James.

Thoroughly marking Forks before James ever went south, helped to conceal me from the Cullens while I researched their set-up; I had ensured that at least for a time, the yellow-eyes would probably ignore my scent. James said the inordinate amount of time I had spent in the Great Lakes when I was a newborn probably accounted for my relatively light scent. Still, I did my best to minimize leaving additional evidence or draw attention to myself, and I tried to remember to feed in Seattle and points east. Once, I ventured as far north as Vancouver, where I caught Laurent's sweet scent near a ferry dock. I made a note to look into that later, after my trip to Phoenix.

The time had come to go.


	5. Down by the River

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**AVALANCHE: SO COLD IT BURNS**

**Chapter 4 - Down by the River (Jacob's POV)**

"To me, spring is supposed to mean that the weather is warm enough to get away from the house and get back out into the woods or at least on the streets. But here I am: stuck on the porch. My dad won't let me in the woods, unless I'm with Sam Uley and his crew, and I gotta take a pass on that. Then, cash is hard to come by and I can't scrape up enough money to buy the parts for my wheels, much less pay for cruising Highway 101. So I'm just idling, unless I want to walk over to the teen center where I have to dodge Sam and the only creatures scarier than he is. No, I'm not talking about the Cullens. I'm referring to girls."

"For chicks, the vernal equinox . . .

Hey, don't look shocked. Just because I catch some cash on the side fixing cars doesn't mean college isn't in my future. Man, wipe that smirk off your hairy face."

I picked up a stick and opened my pocket knife. I pushed the blade into the bark, breaking it down and away from the softer sapwood. The slivers curled as I pushed my knife along until I reached a little knot or my stroke played out; they collected on the step below me.

"Anyway, spring signals the start of hunting season. Open season on men. For the females at La Push, warmer weather says it's time to start tracking down dates for silly school dances and finding dudes to accessorize the clothes and the make-up they've snagged at K-mart. Painted up for war. It's all about taking prisoners, man. Since I don't have a girlfriend, it seems like I'm the target of every girlie-dog who doesn't advertise she's been claimed by some male already."

"Sorry," I shrugged. "You know that the truth is that we front like we're in charge, but once a babe has her claws in you, the only destiny we control is the one that tells us to run a ball around the court or up and down the field. If we don't get into sports, there might never be another opportunity to win at anything in our lives."

I picked up a frisbee and sent it skimming just about the grass. The action, an opportunity for the hound laying on the porch to prove his own masculinity, was ignored.

"It's humiliating. I'd made it almost through the spring without even being winged when another bunch of those Clearwater cousins, already out of school for the summer, showed up."

"What is with those women? Those chickas earned their reputation for being man stealers when Emily swiped Sam from Leah. Now, Leah literally walks around with a chip on her shoulder: a two-foot long rattan eskrima stick that my sister's surfer husband forgot to pack. Steer clear of Leah, dude, she's mad enough to make like Dáskiya and eat you alive."

"Yes, it's too bad my use of slang and clichés reinforce your belief that I'm powerless to do anything other than what you expect me to do. Be what you expect me to be. It diverts your attention from the fact that you and I both know that it won't matter if I go off to some fancy college or learn to fly airplanes or take a job with the state police; greasy mechanic is the only label that will ever stick to me."

Sally Bear barked.

"Jacob, quit talking to that dog."

"If you're bringing me another stupid note from your cousin, Hannah, go away," I grumbled at Seth Clearwater, as he walked toward the house.

"What if I said it was from Bella Swan?"

I squinted and gave him the meanest look I had in my arsenal of facial expressions that were designed to deter a nosy parent.

"Seriously, Jacob, Hannah gave me this last night and I forgot about it - accidentally on purpose- until everyone started looking for her this morning. She wanted you to meet her near the marina and . . .

"Wait, how do you know?" I attempted to interrupt, but Seth kept talking. "You read the note? Aw, man you read the note."

"She wanted you to hang out with her. Leah said that Hannah and her friend have a bet to see which one you'll kiss first," Seth snickered and ignored my questions. His mouth was on autopilot.

"Aw, man. That is gross. Who else read the note?"

"Jacob, are listening to me? I think Hannah went to the marina early this morning. You know the elders said we gotta stay close to home until Sam says its okay," Seth panted. It looked to me like he was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Well, go tell Sam or your folks or somebody. Why are you telling me anyway?" I asked. "Besides, it's not like the marina is deserted or something."

"Everyone will be mad at me, Jacob. You gotta go down to the water with me and find her; then we can take her over to . . . her friend's house." Seth whispered the last few words with a reverence that told me that he had a lot of secrets. "Please?"

"You mean the other Hannah, don't you?"

Seth's eyes opened wide. He knew I was gonna rub the burn a little. "Uh-uh-uh," he mumbled.

"You've got a crush on Hannah's friend. Isn't she like in your class or something? That's why you didn't give me that note: you were afraid that you'd find out that I liked her friend better."

"That's not it at all," Seth stammered. The lie raising the volume of his voice. "I just don't wanna get caught passing notes to you and stuff 'cause your dad and my dad and Sam said it wasn't a good time to be bothering you with any foolishness."

"Seth, I wouldn't kiss a girl for twenty bucks. Not even for a million dollars " I vowed.

"You'd kiss Bella Swan for free," Seth argued.

"_She's_ gotta a creepy boyfriend. One of the Cullens, remember?" I rolled my eyes and jumped up from the step. "I'm going to work on my car."

"Come on, Jacob. Can't you get your dad's car or something?"

"Gosh darn it, Seth." I gritted my teeth, but I knew I was gonna help the kid. "Okay, I'll tell Billy the car's gotta a low tire and I'm taking it up the road for air; but _she_ sits in the back when we find her."

I checked the refrigerator to see what I might offer to pick up at the store before I went to find my dad. Billy was watching some dude from Florida on a decked out sport fishing boat wrestle a sword fish.

"Hey, Pops," I said, swinging my fist in his general direction. I was standing close enough that he raised his hands in mock defense.

"Watch it. Don't make me get up and come after you," he growled . . . or tried to.

"What's up?"

"One of those Clearwater cousins is missing. She wandered off early this morning," I told him truthfully.

The playful look on Dad's face vanished. "Didn't hear the phone ring. Did somebody come to the house?" My dad raised himself up on the arms of his wheelchair and looked out the window.

"Just Seth. I thought I'd check our wheels in case we needed to go somewhere or something. We've gotta low tire. I can take the car down to the store and fill that tire. If there's a leak, I'll patch it. We need milk, too."

"Alright, but don't take too long. I'm gonna make a couple of calls."

I ran back out to Seth, expecting to see him sitting in the front seat, but he'd gone on ahead on foot.

I ran up on Seth just before he got to Main Street. "Get in."

He gave me a half smile, pulling one side of his mouth up before he began to speak. "You told him, didn't you?" he asked.

"I told him Hannah was missing and that you'd come over and told me about her being gone. That's all. nothing about notes," I paused; then added, "or about you getting jealous over some girl."

"You know he'd tell my dad and he'd tell mom and she'd tell everybody."

"Yeah, and then Leah would tease you forever."

"Who cares. I don't want to piss off Sam Uley."

"Who gives a fig about Sam and his clone squad?"

"I do," Seth said. "And you should, too."

"I'm not into running with the gang much."

"Those guys are alright, Jacob."

"I don't like how Sam's building a little army and giving everybody orders. Peer pressure isn't good. It makes you do things you don't want to do."

"I don't feel pressure to hang out with Sam."

"Aw man, you're dog chow. Not a minute ago, you were saying how scared you were of Sam finding out you were bothering me. You're a hypocrite. You know what that means right? I don't need Sam looking out for me. He's not my pops. I don't need two dads."

There was nothing else to say. We drove straight over to the marina where I expected the tense prickly feeling I'd had a lot lately to return; but it didn't, and I was relieved.

In the last couple of months, the hair on the back of my neck would stand up and I'd get real edgy for no reason at all. I was afraid that maybe I'd lived with my sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, for too long and I'd picked up PMS out of habit. Now that they'd both moved away, I was taking up the slack, so that the house would never be free of the hormonal ebb and flow that marked womanhood. I shook my head in disgust.

There were several people in the parking lot at the marina. The fog was thick, turning everything and everyone gray. Even the mural painted on the back of the fuel shack had lost most of its intensity.

Gray was the perfect word to describe how I felt: like I wanted to blended into my surroundings so perfectly - neutral - that no one would know I was there. I was tired of everyone watching me. Even when I managed to get away from La Push, I could feel eyes moving over my back, anticipating my movements, and ears, pricking at the sound of my voice. Camouflage wasn't enough. I didn't want to be concealed, the same underneath, only hidden. I wanted the light to bend around and pass through me. Lately, I wanted to vanish.

"Jacob. Jacob!" I realized that I was staring out into the river, where a couple of charter boats were heading toward the harbor.

"I was just thinking," I said.

"Maybe you think too much Jacob Black. That's your problem: you think too much," Seth said with certainty.

Maybe I do. I shrugged. So what.

We asked around about Hannah and someone said they'd seen a couple of girls hanging out near the vending machines. They were flirting with a couple of crew members off the Coast Guard boat that was checking out a sheen near the harbor mouth. The coasties had followed the trail here to a charter boat that was leaking fuel.

We followed the trail of the teenaged girls to the store. Sure enough. We'd found Hannah and and her friend, the other Hannah. They giggled. Too much.

"You," I said, pointing at Seth and the girls. "Need to get in the car. I'm going to call my dad and get him to call the Clearwaters; then I'm driving you over there. Whatever gossiping and joking you're planning on doing needs to be done before I get back, because from the minute I plant my butt in that car, I don't want to hear a word. Not one word." I looked at Seth. "Out of anyone."

I tried to call my dad, but the line was busy. I grabbed a half-gallon of milk and paid for it before I tried the number again. Still busy.

I decided to go back to the car and drive the girls on home. As I rounded the corner, I saw Sam Uley and Harry Clearwater pulling up beside my dad's car. Sam was driving Harry's truck.

"You kids get in the back; everyone's going home. Hannah, we're driving you back up to your mom's house. She wants you home today."

The girls and Seth started fussing, but I stepped back. It wasn't my business, anyway. Sam followed me.

"How's it going, Jacob?"

"Good enough, I guess."

"After I get back from playing taxi driver, me and some of the guys are going hiking. Wanna go?"

"Nah, Embry and Quil are trying to talk one of them crabbers into taking us out with him. Smelling the water and all makes me wanna go, too."

"Crabbing, huh?" Sam looked amused. "Well, you do that."

I didn't say anyting else and got back in my dad's car. I glanced in the rearview mirror as I drove away and saw the kids were still arguing with Harry. When I got home, I took the milk inside.

"Heard Hannah was at the marina. Guess you know that."

"Uh-huh." Apparently, Sam had my dad's number on speed dial.

"You get that tire fixed?"

It didn't need air after all."

"Didn't think it did."

"Uh-huh." So much for being invisible. I couldn't even get past my dad. "If you need me for something, Dad, I'll be on the porch."

"Why don't you try carving something instead of peeling the bark off all the sticks in the yard."

"Why don't _you_ carve something, old man," I teased.

"Speaking of carving. What are you cooking tonight?"

"Me cooking? It's your turn," I protested, but I knew I'd be in the kitchen throwing a frozen pizza in the oven before the subject came up again.

I turned to step back out on the porch.

"Jacob," my dad said. "You boys really need to stay out of the woods unless you're with Sam. I'm not so sure about any crabbing or fishing trips either. And Jacob, you need to be up front with me about where you're going and what you're doing. I know a man's gotta have room for his private thoughts, but you really need to keep me informed, son."

"I know, Dad. I know," I said as I walked outside.

But I didn't know anything. And it didn't help that the paranoid feeling was back, like there was something sitting in the trees - just out of sight. The neighbor's old dog was still laying up on our porch. He whined and growled a little.

"You feel it, too, don't you boy." I pulled out my knife.

***********************

*Read more about Dáskiya. Go to http://www(dot)quileutenation(dot)org/index(dot)cfm?page=culture_

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In the next chapter:

The first thing I did when I got to Phoenix was find the pet's old lair. James' scent was fading, but it was still strong enough for me to know he'd made himself quite comfortable there. His scent was strongest in its room. In its bed. So I spent the day there, wrapped up in its blanket, breathing his essence in. That night, I found an internet cafe and went online to scan the local papers for any incident that might tell me what James was up to now. The paper was filled with garden variety human dramas. Nothing caught my eye until I ran across a reference to an arson near that human pet's old residence. . . I found the heap of brick and cement easily; James's scent slightly lingered over the path from the human's house to the ballet studio. I retraced the path, afraid to wade into the building's remains. Eventually, I returned and walked through the broken beams and boards. The charred wood held his scent, its sweet, sticky odor filling my lungs. I gulped it greedily, desperate to fill myself with him, because it was all of him that I had left. The yellow eyes had killed James.


	6. Traveler's Tales

NOTE: Many thanks to Wendy who emailed me to let me know the new chapter didn't post. My apologies for the delay.

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Avalanche: So Cold It Burns**

**Traveler's Tales**

**(Victoria's POV)**

Sometimes I was more at home in the water than on dry land. Swimming focused my mind entirely on simply being, each compartment of my vampiric brain connected to the currents and tides and the living things there. If I could exist without ever feeding, I could swim forever, especially when I didn't want to think too much. Mostly, I wanted to avoid speculating on the reasons I had not heard from James.

Once I made the decision to visit Phoenix, deciding to swim down the coast was easy. I swam, submerged, a mile or so off the rocky shoreline, all the way from First Beach to Los Angeles. The ocean provided excellent cover and opportunities to feed.

Dining in Santa Cruz had been my plan, but I never had to leave the water thanks to a couple of humans on noisy wave runners, vehicles unsuited for operation so far from shore. Sliding up under one of the humans and forcing its jet ski into the other had been simple. The human, whose conveyance I struck, had been rendered unconscious and bleeding; he sank slowly toward the bottom of the sea. Sharks moved in before I finished its twitching friend. Normally, I would have scared the competition off, but I wanted to keeping moving; besides I didn't consider insufficiently hydrated and slightly intoxicated humans particularly nutritious.

I finally left the Pacific south of LA, climbing the cliffs near the Point Vicente Lighthouse shortly after sunset. I hadn't even dried off when I encountered a human on a horse. The startled animal whirled, throwing the rider into tree and saving me the trouble of staging an accident at the golf and country club where I was heading. A place James liked.

The rider's flowing blood was impossible to resist. I drank from an open wound where a broken tree limb had avulsed much of the tissue covering its kidney. After I'd sated the bloodlust, I watched the dry topsoil consume the blood that continued to drip from the human. I finally covered its mouth and nose to speed the dying before the burn really took hold.

I headed east until I ran into Interstate 10 and paced traffic until I found a truck stop. The first trucker I waved at invited me to climb in the cab. My plan was to kill and toss the body in the back, but the mark was wearing a Jesus Saves hat and he carried a small Bible in a pocket. I liked that. I remembered going to church when I was little, when I was always clean; before I had to go there and beg from the insincere parishioners, who cared more for the appearance of religiosity, than they did for genuine Christian charity.

The driver didn't ask my reason for hitching a ride, offering little conversation other than to say he was on his way to Atlanta with a load of fruit. Atypically, the human didn't grin and propose stopping someplace where we could 'get to know one another'. I got the feeling natural instincts were telling the trucker to fear me, but I decided the do-gooder was one of those individuals always looking to test itself against the world. Maybe it realized 'angel of death' was a role playing game I liked.

I'm not sure why I revealed that my boyfriend was missing and that I'd traveled all the way from Washington State to find him; but the driver was sympathetic.

"He sure is a lucky guy to have someone that'll come all this way to check on him."

Then, the trucker started babbling about love and missing its wife. I started thinking about driving myself, and I wondered if the wife would miss the husband. When we pulled into a rest stop near the Arizona state line I had decided I couldn't listen anymore. Feeling generous, I let it live and only swiped the sandwich baggie full of cash it had hidden in a cooler. The next driver I approached, a woman in a beat up Toyota, wasn't so fortunate.

The chain-smoking model was heading to Phoenix to see her grandmother. I couldn't have cared less and told her so.

"Who do think you are?" it asked; so I showed her and finished my trip on foot.

Why were marks, generally, so disagreeable?

A few years ago in Atlantic City, James toyed with a mark for a day or two, taking time to set up some very private alone time. The mark was a retired corporate executive with a beautiful car, who boasted of scamming millions from the business and the workers. It said the money was hidden in accounts that neither the IRS nor the soon-to-be Ex-Mrs-retired executive would ever find.

"Let the IRS take the house on Long Island."

And the soon-to-be-Ex?

"I made that woman," the mark noted, leaning over to study the billiard balls and surreptitiously tap the table, "from her fake boobs to her Pradas. She was a trophy, til she started watching Dr. Phil and asking where the romance in our marriage had gone."

"Trophy?" James echoed. "What would a guy like you know about collecting trophies? Ever collect heads?"

The mark puzzled over that for a minute. "I shot a boar once. I had the head mounted, but I didn't like the beady little fake eyes," he said, avoiding looking into our - very real, very red - eyes. He shuffled nervously and finally fessed-up, "I didn't actually kill the thing. The guide had to do that. When the thing was laying on the ground squealing it made me a little sick."

That's when I saw Laurent and James looking at the mark's big ring.

Anyway, as soon as James persuaded the idiot to reveal pertinent information about its South American and Cayman Island accounts, we rolled its Jaguar until the car more or less suited the mangled corpse we'd fashioned. No one would notice the missing finger the boys had fought over. Who knows? Along the deserted stretch of road we had selected, a stray dog might drag off the carcass before it was discovered.

On a brighter note, James said he liked knowing we'd made the soon-to-be Ex-Mrs a wealthy widow and a connection we could drop in on.

"We're friends of your late husband's. Thought you'd be interested in knowing how highly he spoke of you. Said you were a real prize."

"Yeah, a real freaking peach," I said, mocking James while he fished for the mark's Rolex in the goop on the side of the road. "Maybe Laurent remembered to grab the watch. A little gift for the grieving widow. "

The comments made James growl.

James had a world of patience, when it came to finding and milking a mark for whatever it had to give. He prided himself on his hunting skills, always seeking a new way to play our little games.

But James was more than a little jealous that Laurent had a way with the female marks that James didn't have. He liked to tease, but Laurent knew how to stroke a woman's ego. Gifts, compliments and wine made human females weak. Human heifers found James attractive, of course, but Laurent knew how to talk. Laurent would slide right in and make a female feel like he was hanging on her every word. On her every breath. James and his obsessive-compulsive mouth could get in the way of business.

Despite the jealousy, James was smart and used Laurent frequently to act as our 'official' spokesperson - our front man, particularly if we were dealing with other vampires. Strategically, it made sense. If the others of our kind were inhospitable, Laurent's smooth talk could calm the situation. And if that didn't work, the others would assess Laurent as the one in our group to take out before going for either James or myself.

I don't think Laurent understood that part.

************

The first thing I did when I got to Scottsdale was find the pet's old lair. James' scent was fading, but it was still strong enough for me to know he'd made himself quite comfortable. He had marked the pet's room - been in its bed. So I spent the day there, wrapped up in that she-animal's little blanket, breathing James.

Later, I found an internet cafe and went online to scan the local papers for any incident that might tell me what James was up to now. I was certain he'd found an intriguing distraction and had uncharacteristically lost track of time.

"What is time, sugar, when you have eternity," James would say, when I complained that Laurent was slow. Then, he'd wink at me. He always winked when he wanted to make a point.

The local news was filled with garden-variety human dramas. Nothing caught my eye until I ran across a reference to an arson near that human pet's old residence. . .

I found the heap of brick and cement easily; James's scent slightly lingered over the path from the human's house to the ballet studio. I retraced the path, afraid to wade into the building's remains. Eventually, I returned and walked through the broken beams and boards. The charred wood held his essence, its sweet, sticky odor filling my lungs. I gulped it greedily, desperate to fill myself with him, because it was all of him that I had left.

The yellow-eyed adolescent had killed James.

Wailing, I borrowed into the ash and drowned. Weeks passed.

One day, I realized that I'd been transformed again. No longer was I simply a predator; I was vengeance.

An eye for eye, the trucker I'd let go might have said. All I needed now was a plan.

After I'd shaken the soot and grime from my clothes and hair, I stopped long enough to find a few small pieces of the charred pine flooring before heading south, toward Mexico. By the time I got to Nogales, I had crushed the wood in my palm, so I found a little shop where I picked up a perfume bottle necklace that I could use to hold my ash.

James.

I wore him around my neck, letting the scent of his destruction stoke my anger.

I camped out in Coyocán and began pulling our South American accounts. I discovered that Laurent had transferred assets from a small account in Columbia, so I headed down there to talk to our local contact.

The contact was nervous. He didn't get on with James, but appreciated James' ability to move the merchandise he tried to hawk. I let him think James was near, preferring to sit this negotiation out.

"The humans are careless. I know that when you and your friends are handling a run, it'll be clean," the sly Columbian vampire said.

"We're heading to Brazil," I remarked as I fingered my necklace. "But there is some unfinished business up north to set right."

"Laurent is still in Vancouver, I presume."

So, the contact had heard from Laurent. I merely smiled and waited, remembering Laurent's smell on the ferry dock.

"I could use a currier. Someone to facilitate the transport of a few special trinkets for our Italian friends."

"Italy? I don't think James is interested in going to Italy. We prefer the Americas."

"Don't we all, but with Laurent in Vancouver already, it would be an easy job. All you and James would need to do would be to accompany a cruise ship out of Cartagena. The ship will go through the Panama Canal and sail north, back to Vancouver. The only things you'll have to do is keep track of a few items that need to end up in Vancouver, where the cruise originated. You'll have a nice room, credit cards belonging to the couple you'll be posing as, and you'll have my gratitude."

"So where is this couple now?" I asked.

"Well, let's just say they decided not to take the standard inland tour," the imbecile snickered.

"If we were inclined to pick up work, I think we'd prefer to make our usual sort of run. James won't fancy spending four or five days starving and locked in a cabin"

"Your mate's immaturity will land him in hot water with the Italians sooner or later."

I rolled my eyes. During our entire existence together, James had gone out of his way to stay off the Italians' radar. He wasn't like the yellow eyes that flaunted their family and their pets.

The contact was still pontificating, "This could be an opportunity to build a better reputation."

"Look, I told you, we are heading to Brazil, but if you get a single's cruise, I might be interested."

"How can I get in touch with you?"

"Myspace. Vampires. V. A. M. P. Y. R. Z."

I hadn't thought about that account. We used it a couple of times when we setting up marks. I wondered if Laurent might leave me a message there, so I checked later.

He had.

_Fairbanks is lovely this time of year. Wish you were here._

************************

A/N

*if you live, work or recreate on the Palos Verde Peninsula please oppose the expansion of golf course and residential construction, which negatively impacts over 300 years of equestrian tradition on the peninsula and fails to adequately consider damage to protected butterflies and plants in the area.


	7. Detailer

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. Limited dialog and text from the Twilight saga appear within the following text. No copyright infringement is intended._

Avalanche: So Cold it Burns

Detailer

I was in the garage cleaning an old carburetor for a 1972 Datsun 240Z. I could hear my dad singing Marvin Gaye songs. He must have been thinking about my mother. He did that - sing - when he thought about her. My dad must have thought she was sexy.

I couldn't remember Sarah Black; I'd been pretty young when she died. Dad didn't talk about her much, but he didn't have to for me to know how much he loved her. If I wanted to know more, all I had to do was look at my parent's collection of record albums, bought mostly at flea markets and yard sales before I was born, to see what kind of woman she had been.

She'd been feisty like Janus Joplin and honest like Neal Young. My mother was immortal.

Unlike the danged needle in this carburetor. That wasn't going to make it through the day.

Parts for a 'Z' were hard to come by. The '72 'Z' used two one-barrel side-draft Skinners' Union type carbs. The SU carburetor I was messing with was doomed, but the man who owned the car, one of the guys that ran whale watching tours, was desperate, I guess. New carburetors were made for people who restored classic cars and had plenty of money to burn; and the chances of finding a used one were practically impossible since the manufacturer stopped installing them in their cars in 1973.

I was flipping through the pages of a JC Whitney catalog when I heard the crack of a stick. I sat straight up.

It had been weeks since I felt like I was being watched by someone I couldn't see. Like something in the trees was keeping almost as sharp an eye out for me as my dad and the elders were. I blamed Sam Uley. Every time he tried to talk to me I got the feeling he was trying to tell me to man up or that he wanted to challenge me. Sam smirked and nodded in a way that said he had a secret, every time I rejected his offers of friendship.

I heard another twig break and the shuffling sound of dry leaves. Quietly, I eased off the stool and stepped behind the door.

"Hey, Jacob." Embry Call stepped into the garage.

"Whew, man," I panted. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"What's eating you? You think one of those creepies that the elders are so worried about is going run in here and grab you in broad daylight?"

"Don't be stupid."

"No? Well, ah, what were you thinking about doing with that lug wrench you're choking? 'Cause I can see you're not working on tires," Embry noted.

Only then, did I feel the tool in my hand.

"Nah, I'm just cleaning up while this stuff soaks," I said, pointing to the parts sitting in a metal pan.

"Sure, whatever."

I turned away and made an effort to look like I really was straightening the workbench.

"You seen Quil today?"

"Nope, I think he's helping his mom with something. He told me Sam showed up at his house, asking if he needed help cleaning the gutters. Quil said he didn't know the gutters needed cleaning. Anyway, Sam makes Quil's mom almost as nervous as Sam makes Quil, so she sent Sam away; but just in case Sam had heard some gossip or something Quil and his mom are gonna do the gutters today."

"Oh, man, living where everybody knows you sucks sometimes. Too many people want to get in your business."

"You got that right," Embry agreed.

Embry started flipping through the JC Whitney catalog.

"How'd you learn all this stuff about fixing cars. You don't take shop."

"I read. I don't need to take shop when I got a cool garage like this."

"That's a fast looking car," Embry said pointing to the 'Z' sitting beside my garage.

"Not today," I said, holding up a piece of the carburetor assembly. "But in her prime, the 240Z could go zero to sixty in eight seconds."

"Datsun? What's that?" Embry asked as he checked out the car.

"Nissan, dude."

"Oh."

"So what exactly are you working on?"

"This is an SU carburetor. It takes two of them to get the right mixture of gas and air into the engine."

"Where it explodes, right?"

"Right. Think back to science class. To understand how a carburetor works you gotta remember Bernoulli's Principle?"

"Jacob, why are you talking about a stupid science class?"

"Cause science is about studying how things work and when you figure out how things work, then you can build cool stuff, like cars and carburetors. And keep them working."

Embry rolled his eyes, and then I remembered Embry barely passed Physical Science.

"I'd rather just drive the car."

"Here," I said as I threw the Chilton's repair manual toward Embry.

Embry was reaching for the book, when something shook the garage with a loud thud. Embry jumped, and the manual dropped to the ground, breaking the binding and scattering several pages. I almost wet my pants.

"Man, what's with you guys?" Quil Ateara said, stifling a laugh. He knew we might beat the crap out of him if he'd been trying to scare us, so he was gonna play it off. "I trip and you guys light up like firecrackers."

Embry reached for the pages of the Chilton's and said, "Jake's dad in the house yodeling; a few minutes of listening to that and you'll understand."

"My dad's a decent singer," I claimed. "If you're gonna be a pain, you might as well leave. I've gotta finish this carburetor and get to cleaning this car." I grabbed the box of cleaning supplies and walked out of the garage. Embry and Quil trailed behind me.

"So how much will you pay to get some help?" Embry queried.

I turned and looked at my friends. They would take whatever money I gave them and spend it on junk food or in pinball machines. I'd take my earnings to the auto parts store and pick-up new wipers for my hoopty. At least, I'd have something to show for my work. Eventually, I would get my car on the road; and they'd be there riding along with me, as long as they were using their spending money for gas.

"I'll give you guys five bucks each and put another free ride to Forks on my books for yous."

"Deal." Quil didn't waste time negotiating.

"You should have held out for ten," Embry complained, as he started dragging the Shop-Vac toward the 'Z'.

"Hey, I'm not making much more than I put into supplies," I muttered.

A few more detailing jobs or minor repairs and a couple deliveries of mysterious messages would cover the few things I still needed get to make my wheels roadworthy.

I got a master cylinder and twenty bucks out of the message I delivered to Bella Swan at the Forks High School Prom. It was a good deal for me. All I had to do was put on a decent shirt and a tie, crash a junior prom and tell Bella Swan that she should break up with her boyfriend and warn her. **_We'll be watching. _**

I thought my dad meant that we - me and him - would be watching; truth out, I am crazy about that girl. My dad knows it and her dad knows it.

But when me and the old man drove over to the high school and got close, my dad told me to pullover behind a truck and walk the rest of the way. I wasn't going to argue; I was getting something out of the deal and walking never hurt anybody. Then I realized that Sam and Jared were sitting in that truck we'd parked behind. I didn't say anything, I kept walking right past them. **_We'll be watching. _**

Jerks.

I wondered what I was getting myself into. I knew that my dad, the other elders and people like Sam believed the Cullens were some kind of fiends from the pit of eternal damnation. If they really thought the Cullens were dangerous, why didn't they really do something about it, instead of boycotting the hospital and places where the Cullens might be.

My participation in the effort to convince Bella Swan to dump her boyfriend began when my dad was sitting in the living room watching a Season One episode of Rescue Me. Tommy, the show's main character, who was always suffering over something, was scheming to get his ex-wife back. The dude knew he didn't stand a chance, but he went on plotting anyway.

I thought that once people in real life got to be about twenty-five or thirty, they realized that the best they could do was hang on and deal with whatever came their way. I figured my dad were beyond scheming over anything. Apparently, I was wrong.

"Jake, come on in here a minute," my dad called from the living room. "I gotta proposition for you."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"One of those Cullen _boys_ is taking Bella to the junior prom." Dad spit the word 'boys' out like it was poison.

"So."

"So? Well, it's like this. She doesn't know she's going to the dance. You know she's still healing up from her 'accident'." My dad stressed the word and wiggled his eyebrows a little. He didn't think the story Bella and the Cullens were telling about how she got hurt in Phoenix was true, even though Charlie got a letter and an offer of a cash settlement from an insurance company that hoped the hotel wouldn't get sued.

"Okay, what's that got to do with me?"

"See here's the thing. Charlie told Cullen that he could take Bella to the prom, but Charlie knows that Bella is going to sure-fire upset. She probably will want to go home, and maybe if you're around, she'll do that."

"Dad, I can't go to Bella's prom."

"Sure, you stroll in there and get Bella away from Cullen for a few minutes and be a hero."

"Pfft." I was more the Jimmy Olsen type.

"Look, I'll buy that master cylinder for you." His eyes got real big and he grinned. He could see I was going to take the bait. Just a little closer. A little closer. There. "I'll throw in twenty-bucks." Hook, line and sinker.

I was doomed.

When prom night came, I was excited about getting my master cylinder and doing something that would make my dad proud: delivering a message from the tribe. Even if my dad was off his rocker for thinking all the old legends were true, it would make him happy to think I was taking part in his personal mission to keep our tribe safe. I figured he'd go to the next storytelling and brag about sending me to deliver a message to Bella Swan with Edward Cullen standing right there.

My dad was real quiet when we got in the car that night.

"Here, son. Put this on," my dad said as he handed me a tie.

"What do I need that for."

"In the white world, a tie is a symbol of power. This says you are strong to everyone who looks at you."

I almost expected him to tell me to pull around to Old Quil's for a special prayer or something, but the look on my dad's face stopped me from making jokes. It didn't occur to me that the other elders and the La Push gang knew about my dad's mission until I saw Sam and Jared in the truck. Suddenly, it hit me that a bunch of grown people really believed that they were descended from wolves and that wolves could turn into men. I couldn't help shiver, because my dad and Old Quil, all the other elders and Sam Uley and his bunch, they all believed that the Cullens were the very same 'cold ones' that lived in Forks at the time of my great-grandfather.

When I walked past Sam and Jared, I didn't say anything because Sam was giving me a new look. One that said 'now you understand'.

I could see the high school up the road ahead, but I tried to not to think about how bad my knees were shaking and all the eyes prickling my back. Instead, I imagined installing the new master cylinder.

Anyway, getting in the prom was easy. I told the the people at the door selling tickets that my sister forget her cell phone, and my dad wanted to be able to check on her later. Only a few of the Quileute students ever opted to attend high school in Forks, but most of those students stopped when the Cullens moved to Forks - or back to Forks, as my father insisted. All the boycotts strained things between people in Forks and my people, so I figured those hokwaťs working the door would be on their best behavior, all PC and everything; they wouldn't give me any grief.

I stepped through the door into the gym where balloons and crepe paper barely concealed cement block walls, and perfume and cologne fought to hide the pungent odor of old socks and sweat. I slipped between the partygoers like I was invisible.

The dancers moved without purpose. These were not the dances of my ancestors.

I stood in the shadows watching. And that's when I saw them: Bella and Edward. She was standing on his feet, looking up into his face. His hand cradled hers; an arm wrapped around her waist. She smiled as he pulled her closer to him.

It was time. I almost felt guilty, knowing that I was person who was probably going to ruin Bella's night.

Edward turned toward me as I marched across the dance floor. It almost seemed like he was expecting me. He was taller than I remembered and I gritted my teeth. When I looked him in the eye, I realized I was taller than he remember me to be. Much taller.

"Six-two," I told Bella after Cullen walked away.

You couldn't call what we did dancing, but I was too happy to care. If my dad got mad at me for not talking Bella into breaking up with her boyfriend or whatever, so what. I didn't even give a fig if my dad decided not to buy the master cylinder or pay me; just having Bella Swan's hands around my neck was the only reward I really cared about.

Then, I made her angry. "he wants you to break up with your boyfriend. " Dad doesn't believe the story about what happened in Phoenix.

"I fell," Bella protested and I saw the lie all over her face. The red flush of anger and the hardline her lips drew when she bit down on her words told me everything my dad and all the elders had been saying was true.

The Cullens were dangerous.

*****************

A/N: Apologies to those waiting for another chapter of Persephone's Sister. My beta for that one is still out of commission.


	8. Ice Falls

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just wanna play with her toys. Limited passages from the Twilight Saga appear within the following text. No copyright infringement intended._

**_Avalanche: So Cold it Burns_**

**Ice Falls**

_Fairbanks is lovely this time of year. Wish you were here._

I was surprised that Laurent found the Alaskan tundra to his liking. He favored the islands in the Caribbean and the swamps and bayous along the shores. He likes places where he could observe, if not even partake of, the trappings of an opulent life-style. Places where he could woo giddy widows, aching for the grave; so starved for affection that they too late realized the swoon they were feeling was the effect of blood-loss, rather than lust.

"Dying to give you a new tennis bracelet, was she?" James would ask when Laurent would corner a fat pigeon and drink her blood.

Laurent also preferred to 'dine', so to speak, with the ladies, and Alaska was notorious as a place where males substantially outnumbered females. Never mind that the general population was low.

Laurent was a peculiar mix of fatalism and superstition; it made predicting his behavior difficult. He believed that destiny is fixed and there is nothing that can alter what is preordained. Ce que sera, sera.

But Laurent was always peeking around the corner, trying to get a glimpse of the future anyway. "Preparing himself for road ahead," James would say.

So I replied to Laurent's message. _Waiting for James in São Paulo._

A tourist destination. A believable choice. Close enough to the rain forest. Someplace James liked.

*******

When the fire dancers left the stage that had been erected in the marketplace, James finally spoke.

"Did you get a load of that guy with the bone in his nose? James looked at me and showed me his teeth, uninterested in my menu choice.

"James, don't you think the local heathen is a tad small?" Laurent griped. He complained a lot.

"What? He'll do. And growing up along the Amazon makes them spicy." James snickered.

"You know they really all taste about the same," I commented, rolling my eyes.

"Victoria, darling, it would seem that even the transformation cannot revive lifeless taste buds," James teased. "Well, I like the slight enhancements that malnutrition and intestinal parasites produce," James quipped as he sniffed the air. "Ahh, ketones and necrosis."

"No, thanks," Laurent moaned, turning away. "I'd prefer a rich tourist, maybe one with an art fetish and a Chancay figurine." Laurent wanted a ceramic tomb companion.

James laughed. "Are you coming?" he asked me, extending his hand and bowing.

I declined, letting my untraceable aversion to the smokey scent that would cover the fire dancer remain unspoken. Perhaps Laurent was right, the future cannot be changed. Could it be that deep in my bones, more than one-hundred years ago, I had known what was to come; that a day would arrive when I would bottle pulverized wood and James, and wear them around my neck?

I sighed and wished that I could lose myself in make-believe. I wanted to imagine that James was with me, but a true imagination is a rarity among vampires. I suppose years of storing information, in a mind that could never forget, impedes the ability to integrate intuitive and cognitive processes. Perhaps that was the reason vampires generally followed human technological and artistic trends rather than lead. We were too busy leading humans to their deaths.

James was an exception, and he found tracking to be a creative endeavor that filled the tedium of eternity.

I looked at him again. He smiled at me and then pouted a little, dancing backward into the crowd. "Until we meet again, my lady," he purred.

I sucked the putrid air wafting from the vial hanging from neck deep into my nostrils and lungs. The odor burned, branding the bond between us.

I was his forever. As he was mine.

*******

To: Vampyrz . . . . ._ I think we should meet._

_I'll let you know when._ I replied. _Stay where you are. _Alone in Alaska where you couldn't possibly be having any fun. I tried to make James say those words in my head, editing the sound and images from dozens of conversations. I failed.

*******

The Columbian never contacted me, but I decided to take his suggestion and hop a ship for my return trip north.

On a dock in Puerto Caldera, I caught the strong scent of human coming from a cargo container, waiting to be moved to a freighter, heading to the United States. I wasn't in the mood to play with tourists on cruise ships, so I decided to stay with the human cargo on the dock. The wait was longer that I expected and after a few days of equatorial heat, it occurred to me that I would be forced to claim my prize early.

The wind was picking up, carrying the smell of rain and salt. I sat back and waited for the approaching storm.

I was watching the lightning move in across the harbor from the south, when a delivery van parked on an adjacent dock. Two men with weapons got out of the vehicle and checked several trailers, before busting the seal on one, and going inside.

Shortly, an SUV drove onto the dock and stopped. The driver unloaded several boxes marked 'water - one gallon - quantity six'. It returned to its vehicle and motioned. Another human, a woman holding a pistol, emerged herding four young boys into the open trailer, as the other humans with weapons dragged ten stumbling women from the van.

I heard crying, before the storm closed in to hide the noise, and I assessed my chances for enjoying a fresher meal.

When the rain began, I saw the humans shut the container and use a crowbar to secure hold the doors fast. The humans took shelter in the SUV, appearing to wait for something. Another shipment, perhaps.

I turned back to my container. Someone was moaning.

I slipped, remembering my human anger and fear as I faced the prospect of being forced to trade my body. There would be no reciprocating arrangements for the chattel en route to California. The sex-trade leaves no human survivors. They would become animals, accepting the scraps thrown in their direction.

I snapped the lock on the container and opened the door enough to permit a small body to exit.

"Send out the children," I ordered, over the thunder.

Tentatively, two tiny, dirtied hands reached out to grasp the door. Something pulled itself forward. I peered into its dark, wide and fearful eyes, and I was suddenly afraid, too.

"Run," I hissed, as it flattened itself against the trailer. "Run!"

Sensing no further movement in the container, I opened the trailer doors. Most of the humans were dead. The others were failing.

"A meal is a meal," James would said. "But I really prefer a show before dinner."

I began moving from corpse to corpse, drawing whatever fluid still circulated. I'd relieved a dozen humans of their burdens when awareness gave one a kick in the ass and it scrambled from beneath the piled bodies.

I caught it at the doors.

It fluttered in my arms and screamed. "My baby; my baby!"

I dropped a hand across its breasts and over its hips. This one was old enough to yet bear many, but I doubted it had ever had a man. I admired its spunk and decided to keep her.

At least, that was what I intended to do, until the spicy toxins of failing organs hit my tongue and I discovered that I, too, had a discerning palate. James would have been pleased.

By the time the humans in the vehicles had driven 'round to leave water at my container, I had siphoned off everything of value.

"Sweet Mother Mary," a balding human whispered, crossing itself when the light from his flashlight fell across the carnage.

"Yes?" I murmured into the human's ear, as I darted unseen behind it.

The human hurried to its SUV, crossing itself again before falling in the front seat and driving away.

I waited patiently for the other humans to replace the lock and seal on my container before I joined them inside their van.

Three days on the sea had passed before the freighter's crew were overcome by the stench of decay and investigated the source. I heard them puking and throwing the bloating bodies over the side of the ship.

Paranoid, they opened the second container and threw the cargo to the sharks.

*******

After jumping ship, I swam until I encountered a cruise liner, like the Columbian had described. Hoping a shipboard disappearance would make work for the Columbian, I grabbed an inebriated human from a deck.

Later, I picked my way along the Pacific Coast Highway: concealing myself during the day; moving northward and foraging among areas known as 'make-out spots' during the hours of darkness. However, limiting myself to movement at night was slow and frustrating; so, eventually, I moved inland, trekking the Cascades, where summer hikers provided an ample well from which to draw.

In Klamath Falls, I stopped at the library.

A freckled boy at the desk smiled nervously at me. It was the quiet, nerdy type, one that would have been smiling nervously and chewing its nails even if a vampire wasn't standing in front of its desk.

"I don't have library card and I can't get one. Couldn't you, personally, get me set up, so I can check my e-mail?" I fawned.

"You know I'm not supposed to do that and I can't leave my desk right now, but . . . . well, seeing as the librarian is busy and all, I could, um, help you when she gets back here. Wait over there by the video section and I'll do it . . . for you."

"Of course, you will," I said, patting his hand and enjoying the excitement and fear that burned his ears.

Laurent had sent another message. _Still enjoying Alaska, but eager to taste the nightlife elsewhere. Hope to see you soon._

He didn't ask about James, and I was certain that he knew. He knew James was dead, and I needed a plan for dealing with the yellow-eyes before I saw Laurent again.

So I answered. _Still waiting in São Paulo._

I was standing across the street from the library when it closed as six. I waved at the freckled adolescent and he walked over. He was afraid, but it was clearly evident that his excitement hardened his determination to take advantage of whatever opportunity I might give him.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"Do you think you could walk me to the train station?"

"Amtrak doesn't open again until eight."

"Well, maybe you could wait with me. Outside. Please?" Human males responded well to begging.

"Okay, sure. It's only a mile. I can walk my bike."

I leaned over and let him smell me. "You gotta name or should I just call you 'Hero'?

"I'm Stan."

"Of course, you are."

"You gotta name?"

I laughed. "Of course, I do, silly; but you won't remember it, so just call me Angel." Of Death, I thought.

I told him that I wanted see the train as it came in, from a spot north of town, where it would still be moving fast enough to raise the wind. I told him I liked the rush it gave me to feel the vortices the train created, pulling at my hair and clothes. He followed without further question.

My experiment was disappointing. Stan was loud. Too loud; so I reached in and twisted his vocal cords until he couldn't screech anymore. Then, I realized that I hadn't taken sufficient time to get enough venom in his blood stream; and I could see that what little was there, had sealed off his veins before my venom could reach his heart.

I threw Stan out in front of the train so suddenly that the driver didn't know he'd hit a body. It would be days before Stan was discovered.

*******

I followed the tracks until they crossed the Columbia River, then I had turned toward the northwest, seeking the Olympic Peninsula and Mount Olympus.

The summer thaw and the rains were rendering Blue Glacier a playground of ice and liquid water, I treaded the icefall carefully, marveling at the glitter of the snow and the sparkle of my skin. I wandered through the crevasses until I was surrounded by seracs. I picked one, pushed my arms into it and squeezed. I heard the sound of grinding ice as the serac strained to follow gravity. When the last of the bonds were broken, I added my roar to the sound of the fury. The ice buried me and all was still.

I laid there, encased in the snow and ice, listening to the sounds of my heart. You would have expected it to be silent; but anger echoed throughout its hollow chambers, burning red-hot.

I reached for the vial where James had rested between my breasts, but it was gone.

I closed my eyes. I did not resurface.

August

September

October

November

Time passes. Even for me.

**************

In the next chapter: The tribe reacts to the news that the Cullens have left town.

A/N:

icefall - a portion, typically steep, of a glacier characterized by rapid flow and a crevassed surface.

serac - a column of ice formed by intersecting crevasses on glacier.


	9. Cold Ones

_Disclaimer:__ The world of Twilight belongs to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I just want to play with her toys. Limited dialog and text from the Twilight saga appear within the following text. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Avalanche: So Cold it Burns**

**Cold Ones **(Jacob's POV)

The weather had turned cold, which pretty much meant that life, when you are a guy without wheels, dependent on the kindness of your dad, your relatives, your neighbors, your friends and their friends, sucked. And if you lived in the Pacific Northwest without a car, November was a smack in the face. The fall was nice enough until right around the first of the November; that's when you started to have to scrape the frost off the windows in the morning. By the end of November, you'd see everything: fog, rain, sleet, snow, and ice. Today, we were probably enjoying the last clear, sunny day we'd see until April or May.

The day before, Quil had gotten his driver's license, so his cousin let him drive her to Seattle and take us along. Quil's cousin sells jewelry through a couple of the stores at Pike Place Market, and while she was busy, we wandered around and had lunch. We had another reason for going into the city, but no one wanted to talk about it.

"What's a matter, boy?" I said, dropping half a burger under the table.

I was keyed up like a wild turkey during hunting season. I had a feeling I should be watching the crowd, waiting for the barrel of a M1903 Springfield to slip out from between the tourists and send a round or two down in my direction.

"Jake, you wasted a good burger on a mutt." Quil looked disgusted.

"I'm not hungry," I snorted. "Guess he isn't either."

"You gonna eat the rest of those fries? Cause I'll eat 'em, if you don't want 'em," Embry said, as he reached for my tray. "A hound that turns its nose up at a cheeseburger isn't gonna want fat, greasy fries, so there's no use throwing them on the ground for him."

"Jacob, why'd you bring the mutt? He's not yours. What if he runs off or something while we're down here?" Quil whined. "And we can't take him inside anyplace."

"Oh, yeah? Who needs wants to take him inside when all these girls wanna have a look at him. You'll see. Let's go down by the water. Come on." Sitting as close to the water as I could get would mean I wouldn't have to think too much about who or what was sneaking up behind me.

The Market was crowded. There were a ton of folks wandering in and out of the shops. I figured there were more people here than usual because the night before, two trains hit each other, closing the monorail line. Plus, the marathon had a lot of streets closed to regular traffic.

The paper claimed marathon organizers expected about eleven thousand people to participate in the event. I believed it, 'cause I was walking past a bunch of people who sure looked like they were waiting for their favorite runner to hurry up and finish - or fall out.

There were a lot of football fans in the Market, too, thanks to the incredible season the Seattle Seahawks were having. Spotting people going to this afternoon's game against the New York Giants was easy enough; most of them were wearing Seahawks blue or something close to it. The stores selling Seahawks shirts and hats had to be kicking butt.

I almost wished that I was going to this afternoon's game. Maybe that would make me feel better. Just about everyone was smiling and having good time, even Embry and Quil, but I couldn't turn off the alarm in head and watching all these people having fun was only making me more unsettled. Making me feel like I didn't belong.

Despite my determination to keep my back to the water, so I could keep a lookout for whatever might be coming, I slowly turned toward the bay and sound of a DeHavilland Beaver. When I raised my eyes from the ground and swept the scene around me, I noticed the red-haired woman. She was leaning against a wall in the shadows. I couldn't see her well enough to make out her features, but I knew if I could see her eyes, I would find they were staring out at the plane as it taxied away from the shore.

She was tall and too thin. Her arms were wrapped around had a coat or jacket or something. Her t-shirt didn't have sleeves, so she had to be cold. The shade gave her skin a dull gray color, like it had stolen the life right out of her. Thinking about her made me shiver. I wanted to fly away, like the people sitting in the Beaver's fuselage behind a four-hundred and fifty horsepower Pratt & Whitney radial engine.

When I turned around again, the noon sun had moved up high enough to light the wall where the woman had been standing. She was gone.

"Hey, Jacob, let's move down closer to where the guy's singing over there," Quil said, moving away. "He's drawing the chicks away from our dog, dudes."

"Maybe I should learn to play a guitar," Embry mumbled.

"Man, you can barely play a drum," I said.

"At least I can play with something besides my..."

"Shut up," I barked, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.

Two girls in fleece jerseys giggled at us. They were wearing too much eyeliner and lipstick.

"Hey, Embry, go see if you can get those girls to talk to you." When he walked toward them, I winked at Quil.

"I bet they're about twelve years old."

"Damn, Jacob, what makes you think that."

"For one, I lived in a house ruled by teenage girls for most of my life."

"That might make you an expert on some kind of wildlife," Quil laughed.

"Seriously, girls wear more make-up when they are trying to look older. When they are trying to get attention."

"For real?" Quil asked.

"Trust me. They're too skinny; and only one of those girls has hips and that isn't saying much."

"Prove it."

"I don't even have to walk over there and ask them how old they are," I argued. "One of them is wearing a shirt from Our Lady of the Lake."

"So," Quil snorted.

"So it's a Catholic school that only goes up to about the eighth grade."

Embry was busy chatting it up with the girls. I couldn't really blame him. The girls were . . . well, girls . . . I had never seen one that wasn't cute. Girls spent way too much time worrying about what they looked like; all it took for most guys to think a girl was pretty wonderful was for her to pay attention to him.

"Maybe that's where she went last year," Quil said, as glanced at me over his shoulder, grinned and headed toward Embry.

"Doubt it," I mumbled.

I sat down in the grass and watched a bright orange plane land; it might have been the same one that I'd seen earlier. Harbor tours didn't last long. Touching the water, it threw a rooster tail into the air.

The guy playing the music stopped when one of his guitar strings broke. He didn't quite have that Seattle acoustic angst sound. He was more of an Atlanta John Mayer movin' toward the blues. My mother would have loved him.

I looked at the dude as he replaced his broken string. He looked hungry and for minute I felt bad about throwing the burger on the ground, so I pulled a couple of ones out of my pocket and put them in the guitar case.

"You play around here much?" I asked.

"I come down here in the afternoons . . . when I don't have students. Mostly, I play over at the Victrola Coffee House. You should come by," he said, holding out a flyer.

"You give guitar lessons?"

"Sure, you thinking about learning to play? I can give you a good deal on a used guitar and throw in a few lessons for free."

The dude must have really been hard up. The temperature was down in the lower forties. It was cold enough that the guy was rubbing his hands and blowing on his fingers between songs.

"Yeah, maybe. You gotta number where I can get a hold of you?" I looked across the water at the mountains and thought about how far La Push was from Seattle. Too far to come for music lessons.

"Here's my number," he said, scribbling on the back of a flyer. "My name's Riley. I'll see ya around, okay?"

The girls Embry and Quil had been talking to were going to the Underground, a place where people could look at old Seattle. The original streets and buildings had been constructed over filled-in tidal areas that were prone to flooding. After a fire, the city rebuilt on top of the remaining structures and eventually closed off the subterranean areas. That didn't ever keep people who preferred to keep their business out of the public eye away, though. Now, there were tours and people spent money to fix things up, so the shady types moved south to Tacoma.

I didn't want to pay a bunch of money to see somebody's basement. Cold, damp and dark. I was already looking forward - not - to a whole winter of that.

"You guys forget I've got a dog to watch out for. Anyways Quil, you better check with your cousin. You're driving her car; but she's got the keys, and I don't want to get stuck here." Quil and Embry were both eyeing me like I had two heads.

The girls looked ticked, but they didn't have their eyeballs poked out in my direction. Quil was on the receiving end of that kind of trouble. He probably promised them a ride someplace.

"Besides, the marathon started about eight and we're all supposed to meet the Clearwaters after Leah comes in. You know, to show support." Since we were already at the low point of the day, it seemed like a good time to bring up the subject we'd carefully avoided all morning.

I continued. "Seth said that Leah's never run more than twenty miles before, but she thought she could finish in about five and half hours."

"Leah's always been fast," Quil noted.

"A marathon is not like running track at school," I told him. "They're more than twenty-six miles long, so it's not about speed. It's about pacing and stamina."

"Leah went to that training camp on Whidbey Island this past summer after she and Sam Uley split up," Embry said. "Falcon Force or something like that. Her dad wasn't keen on the idea, so Leah worked down at the dock cleaning fish to get the money."

"Maybe we should go," one of the girls finally said. "Sounds like this Leah isn't going to like waiting around while we stroll through Lower Seattle." The chick must have been a gamer; gamers called it that.

I thought Quil and Embry would take a swing at me when the girls walked away, but they didn't.

"Jacob, you think Leah's gonna get over her problems with Sam anytime soon? I mean she's pretty, right; and now she's available, but nobody wants to ask her out while she's still got it for Sam.

"Who knows. Girls take things different ways." I shrugged, hoping no one would mention another girl I knew who was getting over a bad relationship.

"Like Bella Swan."

Embry just had to go there.

"Yeah, Bella took it pretty hard when her boyfriend and his family took off," I said.

"My grandfather said there's more to it than that," Quil jumped in. "You know what they say about the Cullens, and I heard that Bella was under some kind of influence or something."

"Yeah, like hypnosis," Embry added.

"Yeah, well, the Cullens are gone and Charlie Swan says Bella's going to be fine," I grumbled. "In fact, they're coming over to the house in about an hour to watch the Seahawks stomp the crap out of New York."

"Really, Bella's going over to your house?" Embry wasn't convinced.

"I was over at her house Thursday. For Thanksgrieving." I shrugged. "Charlie wants her to get out more, so my dad invited them over to watch the game and eat." Charlie was hoping that if they went to someone's house and a somebody stuck a plate of food in front of Bella, she'd feel like she had to eat it. Apparently, Bella barely ate these days.

"Paul said she still walks around like somebody sucked her brains out," Quil whispered.

"Did anybody check 'er for bite marks?" Embry was trying to get on my nerves.

"You guys are annoying." I groaned, as I buttoned my flannel jacket. The cold had started seeping into my thread bare t-shirt.

"Jacob, if Bella Swan's going to be at your house, how come you came to Seattle with us?"

I didn't have a good answer for that question. I couldn't tell them how awful it was to watch Bella sit at the table Thursday poking at cold Tofurky and instant mashed potatoes. I wasn't going to tell them that it was my fault that Bella was . . . broken like she was because I hadn't tried hard enough last spring to convince Bella to break up with Edward Cullen.

Instead I said, "I wanted to see if Leah could finish a marathon."


End file.
